in search of strippers and cocaine

It was the day I became a stripper. Yes I went to a private girls school but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I never thought it would turn out this way, but I had no choice. It just kind of...happened. I was unprepared for the events that were to unfold. I had been told they’d all be watching intently, but I didn’t expect the reaction they’d give me. Laughter? Really? Was that necessary? Sure my outfit was a little small for me but there was no reason to snigger! I thought the venue was a little too classy for that kind of reception. It was the Sandringham Yacht Club for heaven’s sake!


Humiliated. Mortified. Embarassed. Horrified. Violated. Exposed. Why? All thanks to a stupidly short dress on a runway.

No it wasn’t on the stages of Goldfingers but it might as well have been, I was practically wearing nothing. It was a parade for the World Sailing Cup and I unfortunately decided I didn’t need to try on this one dress of the eight changes I had that day. I had assumed it was a top to be teamed with shorts...I would pay for this decision dearly. All was going splendidly on the runway, not a problem in sight....until the dress. I was running a bit late before the show with hair and makeup so I only tried on half of my outfits. DAMMIT!!!

It comes to half way through the show when I first lay eyes on the “dress”. “Where are the shorts to go with it?” I ask innocently. “There aren’t any, unless you have a pair (implied ‘lol’)” replies my dresser. I struggle into this tiny purple singlet and stretch it over my uncovered butt. Now here’s the trouble with catwalk modelling: you have to wear a skin coloured g-string so it doesn’t show under the clothes, which means if you’re wearing a short dress then nothing is left to the imagination.

Here I was, in this tiny little “dress”, stepping out onto the runway. All was fine until I began walking and the dress began to creep up. That’s when I started trying to sneakily pull it down in the hopes I’d be subtle enough that it looked normal. But out flew my butt cheeks and cue the hysterics. Everyone at this ladies luncheon started laughing! I, on the other hand, began to resemble a tomato. I have never gone so red. I started getting tears in my eyes I was so embarrassed! I had to walk a good 50 metres in front of these women and cameras while everyone laughed.

Eventually I got back to the safety of the change room after what seemed like an hour of humiliation and remembered I had about four more outfit changes. This was my conversation with myself: “I must face them again. Change of outfit this time! Oh crap. What’s this? Change of shoes too? Oh no. I don’t know these shoes. They look kind of big. No time! Must wear them!”

So out I go, back onto the catwalk, pose and begin to walk. Off comes a shoe. I get back into it and keep walking but stumble. SCREW THIS!!!! I lean down, take of the shoes, lift them into the air and keep walking. Yeah bitches, I got this.

My story seemed so great and embarrassing until my poor friend Olivia had her entire boob fall out in front of the lifestyle party three days later. I’m sure she picked up some lusty sailors that night ;)

THE DRESS!!!!!!!!


*photography by Travis Burns

To violence against women, Emily says no

A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to be involved in the launch of The Lingerie Boutique at Rivers Edge. The Lingerie Boutique is an online store providing Australian women (and their partners) with beautiful European labels such as Roberto Cavalli Underwear, Parah, Lou Paris, Lisca, Jolidon and Prelude.

The event was sponsored by 666 Vodka, Australia's premium vodka, and Siren shoes. 666 Vodka provided the most delicious cocktails while Siren provided the models with their beautiful heels.  Chanel Costabir, at just 23 years of age, created this online boutique stating the idea evolved from her "passion for lingerie" and her decision to "fill the gap in the Australian market for beautiful well-crafted lingerie".
 

The model's hair was done by the stylists at Headline Salon. The brief was for voluminous, sexy Victoria's Secret-esque locks, as they created to perfection.

The same brief was applied to the makeup, which was done by the girls from Gorgeous Cosmetics, who also donated some of their beautiful products to guests in their goody bags. I particularly love their "sheer brilliance" foundation as I usually only wear mineral foundation so it's light weight look goes well for a flawless complexion when I go out.

The event was also in support of the white ribbon foundation. The white ribbon foundation was established to help women who have been or are currently involved in domestic violence. Violence against women is a serious problem in Australia and leaves many women feeling unworthy and distrusting of men.Chanel chose this charity to support in order to instill confidence into the lives are many deserving Australian women. "My lingerie is all about creating confidence and women feeling good about themselves. Unfortunately there are women out there who don't have the opportunity to feel that, just because of their circumstances they can't feel confident and that's really sad to me." Everyone has heard about high profile cases of domestic abuse such as Rihanna & Chris Brown along with Whitney Houston & Bobby Brown, but most people don't know about these serious crimes going on in their backyard.

 
lingerieboutique.com.au is currently offering personalised fittings for a limited time and will open its virtual racks to sale very soon. Look out on Fashion TV for the follow up video soon :)

Creepy crawlies!

Something people don’t know about me is that I’m quite the green thumb and I have a veggie garden. It’s kind of a big deal, I know. I’m practically Don Burke and close to getting my own TV show in Japan. I grow carrots, celery, bok choi, onions and garlic. I also have a feijoa tree...I don’t actually know what a feijoa is but one day this tree will grow some form of fruit and I shall eat its offspring. I also grow my own herbs, have a crappy lemon tree that grows no lemons and I steal mandarins from my neighbour's tree that grows through our tennis court fence.

A few weeks ago I had my first harvest which yielded an abundance of delicious carrots and celery! Sure the carrots were bent and half the size of normal carrots but it was as though they were my children and you’re not supposed to hate your children if they’re ugly. What I didn’t realise is that I had disturbed the giant orgy of some very randy earwigs. I had cockblocked another species. I only realised this when I was proudly carrying my produce into the house and I felt something crawl on me only to look down to see a massive earwig crawling on my hand. As a normal reaction to this, I screamed like a little girl while throwing the vegetables in the air and shaking every part of my body to remove any possible bugs that had clung to me.

So there I was, flipping a bitch in my living room surrounded by vegetables, dirt and literally hundreds of bugs. I shit you not, they were everywhere. You know when you’ve had a bug on you and you get that feeling when it’s like they’re still crawling on you after you’ve gotten rid of them? Imagine that while being surrounded by bugs. It’s pretty easy to feel like they’re crawling all over you when you can see them scuttering around your living room. I believe the medical term for this sensation is formication. It can even lead to delusional parasitosis, which is when a person becomes convinced that this sensation is being caused by actual insects crawling all over them. Creepy much?! I had that recently after I was woken up in the middle of the night by a moth on steroids. I screamed and made my mum kill it while I hysterically jumped around my room in order to avoid it.

To make matters worse in the incident of the evil earwigs, I was the only one in the house so I had to deal with the problem myself! Shiver me timbers! It took me about half an hour, a lot of stamping and a lot of shaking of the celery to get rid of all these pests. Mum didn’t particularly enjoy the clean up-my contribution to the household was food hence excusing me from cleaning up. I don’t think I even ended up eating those veggies.

Barbara lives in Bank world

Last weekend, I became a mother. No the baby wasn’t human but I swear it was just as hard as having a real baby. My friend Tegan was going to a wedding with her family so for some reason she trusted me with her tiny kitten for the night. The thing I like the most about this kitten is that her name is Barbara. She was named after Barbara from bank world because they’re both rangas. So Barbara and I were to spend the night together. I clearly didn’t know what I had signed up for.

I figured since I’d somehow managed to bring up my cat just fine, this cat should be a breeze. Admittedly, she did use her little tray like a clever little cat unlike my cat who used to use my bed as a toilet. No joke, I once came home from not being there for a few days to find my cat had left me a gift of 5 piles of poop and 9 little puddles on my bed. Thanks Kitty. Bitch.

Barbara was a little more cunning than this. She had a very odd routine where she would sleep for two hours then play for two hours. In the beginning this was very cute because she’d snuggle up on my chest while I was watching tv then play with my shoelaces for a bit. She also ate every hour. Unfortunately, this routine didn’t change when I went to bed.

Off to bed went Barbara and I after a long six hours of watching TV. She had a little play in my room and then it was off to sleep....for an hour. Barbara starts crying. Why is Barbara crying? Barbara’s hungry. Barbara must be fed. So I get up begrudgingly, feed Barbara and go back to sleep...for two hours. Barbara begins to bite my face. But why? She’s had enough sleep and now wants to play.”But Barbara, it’s 3am, mummy needs sleep!” I plead, but there is no rest for the wicked. I think that’s why God made babies cute, so when they annoy the crap out of us we can’t hate them and throw them out the window.

Also awkward, my cat tried to kill her. Barbara, being the little darling she is, went to introduce herself to Kitty while Kitty was having dinner. From what I understood in cat language, their conversation went like this:

Barbara: Harro, I’m Barbara

Kitty: Wanna get cut bitch?

Luckily, I swooped in to rescue Barbara before she was eaten. It’s so weird how after you see a kitten and then you see an adult cat, the big cat is immediately uglier and less cute than it was before. My cat is still ugly and obese to me, even a week after Barbara left. She’s dead to me....ok a little harsh.

This entire experience made me realise I am not having babies for a very long time. Getting woken up every two hours is NOT enjoyable, no matter how cute the baby is. So use protection!

Just for your entertainment, this is me getting fed ice cream while my cat tries to eat it. Yep, pointless video.

Horsing around

They call it “the race that stops a nation”. Nice choice Betting Association Australia. I almost missed that particular race and I was there! Let’s be frank, not a lot of people go to the races to watch the horses. Sure some people place bets (and lose) so they have to watch the horses but the majority of people go there to dress up, drink too much and stagger home when the day is over. I pretty much just went so I could look pretty while standing around drinking champagne and eating canapés. This plan didn’t quite work out.


My dream racing day would have begun with me looking dazzling in a dress I’d picked out months ago with a fabulous head piece and comfortable shoes. For one, I didn’t have an outfit until two days before cup day and I only figured it out after designer Pamela Usanto gave me one of her beautiful skirts as a gift. The day before the races I still didn’t have a headpiece so my mum found me one in a random box at her work and I generally do not own any comfortable heels (come to think of it, do comfortable heels exist???).

Another essential thing you need for the races is good weather but in Melbourne it is literally impossible to come by. I’m just thanking my lucky stars I wasn’t one of the poor sods on Derby day who had to trudge through the torrential rains with muddy heels and a see through dress (how convenient the dress code is black and white, clearly God’s a pervert and was craving a wet t-shirt comp). I had to promote for Tom Waterhouse online betting for four hours that morning at Southern Cross station and apart from the hectic blisters I got, I had a ball checking out people’s interesting choice of clothing but nothing would prepare me for what I saw on cup day.

Willy Wonka. What was this woman thinking??? I just don’t understand why some people decide to dress like this. I don’t think she’ll be picking up too many guys in that ensemble. I also saw numerous pairs of gum boots and fishnet stockings. I’m one of those girls who salivates at the thought of giving random strangers makeovers because it would make their life so much better and make things a lot less painful for my eyes. Seriously, look less fugly or stay inside.

The thing that you need the most at the races is good company and that’s why I love my friends. They all looked super amazing and have fantastic drinking and eating skills. They’re not that girl you spotted stumbling around taking swigs from a bottle of wine but the ones skulling their glasses or champagne with three sandwiches in their other hand. They’re not those girls whinging while carrying their heels in their hand, they’re the ones dancing and singing the national anthem at the top of their lungs in front of their marquee. Some of my favourite quotes from the day came from my little friend Brianna. My favourite was: “If you don’t skull that glass of champagne right now, you are no longer my friend”.

With the races comes the typical seedy old men who had one too many beers. The thing that disgusts me the most is the guys who try to hit on us are old enough to be our dads. I make a point to make them aware of this while asking if it bothers them that they’re paedophiles. That usually shuts them up. If that doesn’t work, I begin to call them dad while subtly running away. To seedy old men, Australia says no. Occasionally you will agree to be in a photo with them so they can go home and tell their other predator mates in Wagga about all the hot chicks they hung out with at the races. Is it really that hard to stick to their age group? Yes the women of that age are sagging in all the wrong places but at least they’ve finished going through puberty and got their first bra more than four years ago.

Did I also mention I am somewhat challenged at making bets? I literally have no idea how to do it, as I assume many other girls don’t. I don’t know the names of the horses, jockeys or anything about gambling. I went up to the window, handed over my $20 and said confidently “twenty on number nine thanks”. This was followed by the man asking me “which race? Place? First? Do you want to know the odds?” SHUTUP AND PUT MY BET ON BUDDY! YOU’RE MAKING ME LOOK LIKE A DICKHEAD! Dignity=lost.

To put it simply, I’m not really an experienced campaigner when it comes to the races but I make up for it in the effort I put in when trying to look like I know what I’m doing. Giddy up!

Made in Melbourne

Being in the fashion industry means I get the chance to work with a lot of amazingly talented people and be involved in some pretty awesome events. One that I have been lucky enough to be a part of is the Made in Melbourne event. This annual fashion event promotes and supports local designers who create and manufacture their collections in Melbourne. The event was created by Melbourne designer Katya Baxter, who also created the label Mina & Katusha in collaboration with Sarina Zammit. It is presented by LiPrice and has this year been held at The Trust in Melbourne's CBD. The venue has been transformed with fake grass, fountains and roses climbing up newly latticed walls. Their first show this year presented pieces from Mina & Katusha, Caro, Lisa Taranto, Marion Liese, Borsha, Silk & Ink and Neo Dia. They are definitely brands to watch out for in the coming seasons. In Made in Melbourne's latest show, the theme was Spring Racing, with the addition of beautiful head pieces by Melbourne milliners.
The show opened with designs from Mina & Katusha with head pieces by Gregoria millinery. Their third collection entitled ‘Amour’ is set for Summer with bright colours in beautiful feminin frills and flattering lines.

The second designer to show case their collection was Lady Petrova with Hopelessly Devoted millinery. Petrova Hammond is the brains behind the operation and is the cutest person I have ever met. She is a petit redhead oozing with this adorable, lovable character. I just wanted to hug her! Her collection was without a doubt her personality in the form of clothes- sweet, pretty and quirky. I had a little fashion dilemma backstage when the dress I was meant to wear (which was a stunning yellow and pink flowing dress) got completely tangled as four people tried to help me into it so I ended up wearing this adorable little number.

 

The third designer was Violet & I with Bianca Linklater millinery. Her designs were pretty, feminin and a bit sexy! I didn't model these myself but my beautiful friend Jessica Rose did a fabulous job. Their website has the most beautiful pictures as well.

 I was most impressed with the final designer Pamela Usanto who used JloveS millinery. I had never met her before but had seen her beautiful collection modelled by my friend Kaitlyn Ridge. Pamela is such a happy and lovely person and her designs were classy and simply stunning. I was lucky enough to wear her show stopping piece as well as to recieve one of her skirts as a gift, which I ended up wearing to the races. To get her amazing dress on was quite the struggle. I was convinced it was too small when the zip-less bodice wouldn't go past my thighs. With the help of three others and some squeezing, we finally got it on as well as the jaw dropping dress.

A runway show wouldn't be the same for me without wardrobe disasters and injuries so in true Emily form, I managed to have my already ugly feet covered in blisters from four hours of promo work for Tom Waterhouse that morning. Just keeping things classy!

Family business

I’ve been writing this blog for a few months and I’ve realised I haven’t really written too much about my family- those people I didn’t get to choose to have in my life. My last name is Macfarlane so if you hadn't already guessed, I'm Scottish and that means we have our own family crest and tartan. Boom. I know you're jealous. In my family I have a 21 year old sister, a 16 year old brother, my mum, my dad and Kitty, our cat who we don’t like much because we only see her around dinner time. Together we’re the Macfarlane’s. Eat your heart out Brady Bunch. Maybe I should discuss how our little family started with the story of how my parents met.


My mum was a bit of a babe back in ye old day and dad was kind of a player (I would know, I’ve seen photos of him in his day and a buffet of women to prove it). On the fateful night my parents met, they were both at the same bar with a few friends. My mum was having a few drinks at a table when my dad strolled over asking my mum where she lived. When she replied with “Balwyn”, he responded with “well you’re out” before asking all of her friends in turn and eventually walking away. Eventually he went back to my mum and for some reason, she gave him her number. Three weeks later he called to arrange a date, ending their conversation with “I don’t remember what you look like so if you’re alright I’ll stay but if you’re ugly I’ll keep on walking.” Nice choice mum.

Might I also point out, my parents are two of the palest people and alive, hence shouldn’t have mated. There should be a work safety policy in the realm of parenting, I am practically allergic to the sun. What is also strange are the varied heights in our family. My mother and sister are 5’ 4”, my dad is 5’8.5”, I’m 5’9.5” and my brother is a monster at 6’5”. Where the hell did the tall genes come from? Also the fact that my mum and sister have massive jugs and I’m a little more challenged in that region.

Like any family, we don’t always get along. My dad runs a tight ship and likes to have control over the house hold and the rest of the family or as he likes to call us, “you people”. If I leave things lying around, he hides them and makes me do stuff for him in order to get them back. Unfortunately, he’s started to forget where he puts them and half of my stuff has been missing for a few months. My brother Andrew just likes to steal my stuff in general, this includes multiple pairs of headphones (often pink ones) and moisturiser. Andy and I are really tight but it’s still confusing when I get accused of flirting with him. I’m just a very affectionate person, I swear I’m not Tasmanian.

The awesome thing about having a sister is that you practically get two wardrobes but it’s depressing now because my sister Stephanie is at college in America on a tennis scholarship. We still try to exchange things every time she comes to visit but I’m a bit worried she’ll lose it as she has a tendency to misplace things. It all started a year ago when I bought her this beautiful expensive ring for her 21st but she lost it. Since then, she started losing bigger things like her hamster Pumpanickle who just “disappeared” and more recently her black Labrador puppy Pepper. Very smooth. I’m beginning to think the forgetfulness runs in the family.

The issue I’m having with my mum lately is that I’ll have full conversations with her about things and when I bring it up again the next day, she’ll have no recollection of us ever discussing the topic at hand and she’ll get mad at me for not telling her. She only gets mad because she loves her kids so much so she gets worried when she thinks we haven’t told her every detail of our lives.

So I guess you could say my family is pretty normal, but we’re a bit closer than your regular family. So if you touch my family, consider yours in grave danger. I will go ape shit.

bday or me-day?

I hate that it’s my birthday only once a year. I’m getting sick of it being everyone else’s birthday and not mine! I get so jealous! You know the scenario, you’re sitting at a restaurant when a delicious slice of free cake flies past you carried by a waiter singing “happy birthday” and you’re thinking “I want free cake” but it never comes. I’ve been tempted so many times to pretend it’s my birthday in the hopes of getting that cake made 100 times more delicious purely due to the fact it’s free. The way I see it, this jealousy of other people’s birthdays started a long time ago.


Picture this: a room filled with streamers, balloons, a clown, fairy bread and screaming 5 year old kids. It’s your best mate from prep’s fifth birthday and you’ve already had a tantrum because it was completely unfair that they were getting a present and you weren’t. Then suddenly, their mum starts singing “happy birthday” while stepping over kids and holding a glorious delicacy appropriately labelled with “happy birthday Chucky” (I don’t know why I inserted the name Chucky there but maybe that’s because he was my favourite Rugrats character). Of course you’re Chucky’s best mate so you get to sit next to him while he blows out the candles. This is when shit gets real. Chucky goes to blow out the candles but you get in there first and blow them out yourself. Chucky starts crying, his mum is trying desperately to calm him while re-lighting the candles and clearing up the snot you just blew all over the icing. You: 1, Chucky: 0.

It only gets worse as you get older. You start buying presents by yourself with your own money. You pick the perfect present and realise your friend will love it just as much as you do. But hang on, it is kind of expensive and it’d look better on you anyway. Before you know it, you’ve claimed ownership of this present. This is easily avoidable. If it’s for a family member, get something you will both like and since you live in the same house, you can use it whenever you want. I did this with my dad. I wanted a pasta maker so I got him one and just use it all the time. Another trick is to get a present that involves doing something together such as a trip to Queensland. They’re happy they’re going to Queensland, you’re also going. Everyone wins. I have another dilemma on my hands though: my birthday is close to Christmas.

For people who don’t understand what this is like, imagine getting completely jibbed with joint birthday and Christmas presents. It’s BS! Not only that, people regift their own Christmas presents to give you for a birthday present because they were “busy until after Christmas”. Oh how convenient. This happened to me last year when a friend bragged about how awesome the present was that she was giving me but she kept “forgetting” it everytime she saw me. I’m one of those people who really isn’t fussed about whether or not I get a present from somebody but she was making me excited about how amazing this present really was. Eventually the 9th of January rolls around and she is ready to present me with this ridiculously fabulous gift. Firstly, it was enclosed in a small brown paper bag. Warning sign number one. I pull it out of the bag and it is a chunky piece of metal, which was apparently a necklace. Now I don’t mean to sound like a spoilt little brat, but this person had known me since I was ten and in no way, shape or form would I ever be able to pull off this piece of “jewellery”. My acting training jumped in as I looked up at her saying “oh wow, it’s so versatile”. I would’ve preferred a potato if I wanted versatility. I gave her the benefit of the doubt assuming she had at once stage gotten me an awesome present but had it for so long that she fell in love with it and claimed it, eventually panicking and giving me this unwanted Christmas gift. Understandable, I loved the present I got her for Christmas so much that I bought myself one. I guess it’s the thought that counts right?

That’s what I love about Jesus, he’s willing to share his birthday. Legend.

Sham WOW!

It was one of those times when you need a fucking big sham wow. It all started on the morning of October the 6th when I decided it would be a nice idea to wear a cute flowy white skirt to uni but with a g string considering I would have to change into leggings during play rehearsals because if there’s one thing I hate more than brussel sprouts, it’s visible panty lines. Sure that made no sense, but who doesn’t hate brussel sprouts? I digress. One of my favourite things to do is watch the weather and impersonate the weather girl but on that very morning I was running late and missed the weather. And so started my unfortunate day.


I didn’t have enough coins that morning for parking and I just wasn’t in the mood to visit the creepy guy at the servo who remembers me everytime I go there to get coins or an up & go. I decided to take a wee little journey on the bus that I usually avoid because it means I have to walk a whole five minutes to get to the bus stop and I’m lazy. Originally I thought I missed the bus as it sped by me but I’d chosen a good day as the bus driver was in the mood for a slurpee so he sent some of his bus groupies to get him one. Stage one of my day was complete as I arrived at uni 20 minutes after my class started. At this point of the day, there was only a minimal amount of wind. My luck was soon to run out.

Three hours later and my class was over. I came outside to see what can only be described as an apocalyptic sky combined with tornado like winds. It was Munroe moment after Munroe moment. I felt like I was being ripped off by God, he was showing everyone my arse and I was getting no money for it. This was the least of my worries.

It has come to my attention that a new water catchment area should be created in my garage. For quite some time now, we’ve had some serious issues when it comes to rain and drains. About a year ago, our entire house got flooded and we had to replace all the carpet. On this evening however, dad and I got in there quick to clear out some serious water. So I donned my red gum boots and my rain coat while grabbing a bucket just as shit started getting real. Dad and I were running around like headless chooks trying not to drown like the poor little snail I found swimming in the blocked drain. The water was literally knee deep and pouring in from every possible opening. My cat, Kitty, had previously smashed a hole in one of our windows the other day as well. You may ask how this is possible if I don’t have a tiger as a cat but truth is, our house is kind of a crap heap that was created with illegally thin windows...those are the ones made of glass and not green plastic like the rest of the house. Amazing visual I’m sure. But because of this hole, more water was pouring in along with the shower coming in through the kitchen cupboards.

Eventually we stopped the flowing river running through my garage after some intense father daughter bonding. Dad and I don’t do much with each other that doesn’t involve food or playing guitar together so this was pretty huge. My sister better watch her back because I’m in the running for golden child at this rate. She asked for it when she got her first tattoo.

While others are snuggling up in front of the heater during a storm, us Macfarlane’s are battling raging floods and while limiting our energy use by keeping our heater in its broken state. We’re survivors. I’m just glad I didn’t have to pump up the inflatable boat this time...

Gender bender

“If I were a boy, even just for a day, I’d roll out of bed in the morning and throw on what I wanted and go.” Well Beyonce, I couldn’t have said it better myself....but I’ll try. Lately I’ve just been getting more and more jealous of boys. They get to do so much cool shit! If I could trade bodies with a boy for a week, here’s a list of things I would do:


Pee wherever I want
I can’t even imagine how much time I would save if I could just whip out a wiener and pee at any time, any place. I’d love to try out some aiming as well as write my name in some snow. There would be no awkward squatting while camping, no waiting in line to use the loo’s or waiting till I found a toilet in general. The world would be my toilet.


Have a burping and farting contest
Not many people know this, but one of my rare skills is the ability to burp extremely well on demand. People don’t know this because it’s socially unacceptable for females to burp in public. It depresses me because when I rip out a winner, people are disgusted. Just once would I like to burp and hear applause.


Walk around naked with my mates
I recently went to uni games and was astounded at the number of nude dudes I saw in public. I had one awkward incident when we were at a club and I turned around after getting drinks from the bar only to be confronted by five naked guys, whom I would’ve high fived if I didn’t have drinks in my hands. I also love that a footy bus containing an entire team while naked was crashed after a night out (not the crashing part...just the naked part). Boys were also caught streaking at the girls footy match. So much nudity, so little time.

Not bother with grooming
Boys take this for granted so much. They don’t need to shave, moisturise, tan, do their hair, put on makeup or wear high heels. It’s so unfair that their going out ensemble consists of a tshirt and jeans with the ability to change tshirts for a completely different outfit the next evening. PLUS they’re always comfortable! Epic win much?


Grow a mo
Bit awkward if you have a mo as a chick. Enough said.

Shave my head
I’ve always considered this but I have an awkwardly shaped head and it didn’t exactly work out well for Britney Spears. Yes Natalie Portman pulled this off but only coz she is a hot babe.



Beyonce, she had the right idea as did Ciara who once said “sometimes I wish I could act like a boy”. Ladies, you read my mind.

Break me off a piece of that

I’m hearing whispers of a new breed of man being created. A real man, who wreaks of sweat, dirt and petrol instead of the new Calvin Klein shirt he bought himself yesterday. A guy who is ready to kill that spider on your wall instead of running out of the room screaming while you drown it in deodorant. A bloke who’s drinking a beer instead of a vodka and raspberry. I have one word for this: delicious.

It seemed for a while there all guys were hung up on this obsession of being a “metrosexual”, where they would be caught stealing their mum’s razors to shave the patch on their chest visible through the v-neck cut into their perfectly good t-shirts and borrowing her concealer for that pesky zit on their chin. It seemed shopping to this breed of man was more exciting for them than for females and their brand new snake skin brothel creepers teamed up nicely with their skinny hipster jeans and tight pink shirt. Sure every girl loves it when a guy smells scrumptious but when that’s due to the fact they’ve just borrowed their girlfriend’s moisturiser, that is not cute. Not cute at all.

The metrosexual would be more likely spotted in the gym sipping on a protein shake or at a cafe eating a salad rather than in his natural habitat eating a pie at the footy or a sausage roll in a lumber yard. If you’re going to go to the gym, pump some iron or lift a few cars. Think Superman not Ben Affleck.

It seems that the bloke is back, giving way from a metro to go retro- retrosexual that is. No girl wants to be seen with a guy at the beach who’s oiling himself up and pulling up his short shorts to get an even tan. It’s called man sheen, and it appears when a guy is playing footy in the water in a pair of shorts that are longer than his mid thigh. Get it? Another thing, a real man should know how to deal with a flat tire or can unblock a drain. I sure as hell can’t so if I could call up a friend to clean my pipes instead of a professional, that would be mighty helpful....wow, that actually sounds like a porno. Moving on! I digress!

This new man is more Bear Grylls (drool) over Justin Timberlake. Those who don’t know who Bear Grylls is, please bash your head into a wall then come back and continue reading....all done? Cool bananas. Bear Grylls is the man all guys should look up to as he is the star of Man Vs. Wild. He could wrestle a tiger with his bare hands (or should I say “Bear” hands...wow, I’m so funny. Note to self: no one thinks you’re as funny as you think you are). He literally just carries a knife around and cup and he can survive in the Amazon! If that’s not impressive, I don’t know what is. I’m talking Rambo here people, guys who man up, rub some dirt in it and get the job done!

I’m not saying to guys stop showering and grow a beard resembling Osama Bin Laden but just get it together! Men get the stereotype of being the stronger human beings so act like it and stop stealing my moisturiser!

Rational fears

Deep water

This tops my list of fears. Nothing freaks me out more. I’m fine when I’m looking at the water and I want to swim in it but when I’m in there, no deal. I don’t like the fact that anything could be swimming around me and licking their lips at the thought of having me for their next meal. I went swimming with dolphins last year and absolutely shat myself. If I was a shark, I would definitely pretend I was a dolphin so I could feast on all the delicious humans I wanted. I also had my first panic attack when I was in Greece recently, where there are apparently no sharks. The water was amazingly clear and beautiful from above but I couldn’t see that when I was in there. I was about 3 metres from the cliffs (hence the water was about 3 metres deep) when I started freaking out. I started hyperventilating and almost crying because I wanted to go back. I reached a whole new level of pathetic damsel in distress. Needless to say, I got laughed at by the locals who clearly hadn’t seen Jaws. I’m also terrified of murky water, like the water in the Murray River. Have you seen some of those crazy arse fish on National Geographic that they find in water like that? I’ve seen way too many scary movies and I feel at any moment my life could turn into one. Same goes for pools at night. Never will I ever swim in one of those by myself. I must admit though, if you pee your pants from being scared in the water, no one will ever know.

Butterflies

As Bart Simpson says, “no one suspects the butterfly”. I do. They are so icky! The butterfly house at the zoo makes me want to cry. They have the creepiest butterflies with the chunkiest bodies with their little that there are way too many of. Half the time the butterflies are on top of each other mating but the other half of the time, they’re all over people! They’re meant to be scared of people but they’re not, their arrogance really irks me. I’m not a fan of things with wings, they kind of give me the heeby jeebies. That goes for moths as well. I can’t even be in the same room as a moth or a butterfly, a little feeble I realise. I like butterflies from a distance, the colours are pretty but close up they’re scary as hell! People try to tell me they can’t hurt me but what if one flies into my mouth and I choke on it because it’s so big? Yeah, argument won me thinks.

Birds

I was never really afraid of birds until Spring of last year. It was a lovely day and I was innocently on my way to catch the train. I was walking up the ramp to the platform when I heard a loud squawk before getting smacked in the side of my head by something. Dazed and confused, I looked around only to be hit again in a fury of feathers and claws. I made a run for cover, getting shrieked at angrily all the while. I’d heard of this happening to people during nesting season but it had never happened to me. The same thing happened a week later after I’d built up the courage to take the train again but this time people saw and laughed. I hope they get shat on by a million pigeons. After those two incidents, I couldn’t walk outside by myself for about two months. To this day, I still duck if a bird flies past me or if I hear them squawking.

Things I’m not afraid of that most people are:

• Snakes: I absolutely love snakes. I’ve always wanted one; I love the way they feel, move, look, everything.
• Heights: Already have bungy jumping and sky diving on my list of things to do.
• Small spaces: They don’t really bother me unless I’m surrounded by a lot of people, then I get flustered.
• Spiders: No biggy, they can only crawl and they probably won’t bite me. Only bad experience I’ve had with them was when one crawled out of the handbag I’d been using all day and into my car where I couldn’t find him. That was a tad scary.

Violent crime

Once again high heels have caused me a great deal of trouble. Last night I went to the Melbourne Uni commerce ball at the Docklands, that lovely event everyone lined up for overnight. Overall the night went splendidly as I spent it being one of the only sober people and only getting two drinks poured on me. Success. I did have a tiny diva tantrum when the first drink was splashed over my favourite shoes along with broken glass but I slapped myself in the face and got over it.

The night went by fairly uneventfully with a few people stacking in on the dance floor, a creepy camera guy zooming in on girl’s butts while it was projected on a large screen and the serving of a very interesting mystery meat for dinner. I didn’t drink as much as last time either so the ability to see was an unexpected surprise. Those who know me would know I’m not the biggest party animal in the world and would rather spend a night in on the couch than go out drinking till 4am...generally because I get sleepy at about 11 or 12 and start dozing off....at clubs. I’m just lucky my mum has enough money to keep paying people to take me out and be my friends.

All was going great until the ball ended at midnight, at which point my carriage turned into a pumpkin and the horses turned back into mice. Ok not really, but what actually happened included torrential rains and misleading bus drivers. The after party was set to be at Prince as it was the year prior with buses apparently waiting outside ready to take us there. When we got to the buses, we were sent away, told that it was the bus for Monash students going to Tramp. Because of this, we went on an adventure in our tiny dresses through the rain to find a cab. Eventually we found one with a club photographer in it on his way to Eve so we jumped in with him. After finding out our jobs paid less than half of his, we finally arrived at Prince freezing our butts off and feeling less than stunning. This is the venue where I would later be carried out of in a great deal of pain.

15 minutes into the afterparty, shit went down. We were all dancing when a young lady lost her footing and began to fall from a step. On her way down she stood on my foot in her sky high stilettos, twisting hard as she fell. Don’t worry, she was fine, my foot on the other hand was not. I don’t usually swear much because my voice is really high pitched so it just sounds odd so when I do, you know something is serious. I yelled the f-word out for a total of ten seconds before limping away to the bathroom. As soon as I got in there, I sat down to check out the damage. Already my foot had swollen with a lump the size of a golf ball just above the toes on my left foot. I didn’t even realise I’d sat next to my friend Jacinta but thank the holy mother of Jesus that I did. After 20 seconds of trying to be a big girl I burst into tears with the most excruciating pain I’d ever felt finally becoming too much.

Many girls came and went through that bathroom, all with an empathy I knew all too well. I’ve been stood on multiple times but nothing like this. I was offered ice and water but no alcohol. At that stage I was in need of a whole bottle of tequila, regretting my foolish decision not to drink in the first place. Soon my wailing was becoming too much for my friends so they decided it was time to make a move. They pushed through the crowd hoisting me off the ground while screaming “SHE HAS A BROKEN FOOT, GET THE F*$#K OUT OF THE WAY!” Finally I was down the stairs and in a private room getting fed nurofen while my foot was up on top of a table. At that point, all I wanted was my mummy. The call to her went like this:

Me (while balling my eyes out): Mum, someone stood on my foot in a stiletto, I think it’s broken

Mum: Are you drunk?

Me: No mum, I’m unfortunately sober and my foot is broken. I need you to come get me.

Mum: Who are you meant to be going home with?

Me: The Brighton girls. Mum-

Mum: What time are they leaving?

Me: I don’t know! You are not understanding the gravity of the situation! My foot is broken! I need you to come get me!

Mum: Ok, ok I’m coming.

I later found out my mum thought I was kidding. What kind of person calls their mum when they’re drunk and says they have a broken foot? More like who calls their mum when they’re drunk in general? Long story short, I went to the hospital, got pushed around in a wheelchair, got an x-ray and was told it wasn’t actually broken but just a chipped bone. I feel bad for my poor friends and my mum who had to put up with me whinging. The entire time I was in hospital, all I complained about was how I would have to wear a boot or worse, have to wear crutches. My mum also asked me if I punched the girl. Such a good role model.

In conclusion, until last night there was nothing heels could do to make me think about them in a poor light. I’m not quite willing to hang my pairs up just yet but I do think I’ll take more care when dancing with drunk girls...or take knuckle dusters next time I go out.

Dream a little dream of me...

I’m a bit worried. I think I’m a psychopath. Seriously, the stuff I dream of is so odd I’m beginning to think there’s something wrong with me. I don’t even bother looking it up anymore because I think it all sounds like a crazy cat woman who takes her horoscope seriously has written it in between making rock cakes and sorting her china doll collection. Apparently when I used to have dreams about all my teeth falling out it meant that I had things I needed to tell people but I couldn’t and when I couldn’t run away from people in dreams because I kept tripping over meant that I was trying not to confront something in my life. Who the hell invents this stuff?

My dreams are a little different from the ones in the “common dreams” sections of most websites. The other night I dreamt I was on a cruise in Greece with a lot of people, eventually becoming just my mum and I because everyone left me. My mum then swam away and had an affair at the same time as my camera was broken by some random Asian lady while I was off being a life saver on Baywatch. Tell me what that means dream dictionary!

Of course I have the old naked dream where you’re walking down the street or speaking to someone and you suddenly realise you’re starkers. It’s slightly awkward when your bits are out in front of random strangers and your friends. Those are the worst! Eventually I wake up topless and my best friend has left the bed and is in another room...

I feel as though I should slip in something witty and intelligent about Inception...I got nothing. Everyone was obsessed, it should’ve been in 3D and I actually had to stay awake for the entire film. That’s my take, I am not about to give my opinion on whether he was still in a dream or not with regards to the spinning top and the fact that he finally saw his children’s faces.

But then again, who doesn’t love the falling dream when you get abruptly woken up when you smack your elbow into the lamp next to your bed? That’s generally when I feel like a freak. I’ll avoid the delightful topic of wet dreams for boys because it makes me giggle plus it’s a touchy subject...pardon the pun.

All in all, I’m hoping I’m not some absolute weirdo because I have dreams about trying to save my imaginary younger sister from being murdered. That’s normal right?

Steak anyone?

Picture this: walking into a room looking as nice as you can to meet a potential employer. In this room, you become surrounded by 30 stick thin drop dead gorgeous girls all competing for the same job. You eventually get called to your potential employer, hand them a picture of yourself while they inspect a book with pictures of you while you walk in a straight line down the middle of the room, pose at the end and walk back while being stared at by a bunch of the most stunning people you’ve ever seen along with your prospective money source. After you’ve been scanned for beauty, you are then sent on your way with a “thanks for coming”. Sound horrific? It freaking is! Why would I subject myself to such intense scrutiny? I’m still searching for the answer to that one.


What I just described was what is known in the fashion world as a “casting”. I like to call it the meat markets. It just doesn’t seem natural to go for a job based on your appearance but hey, that’s modelling. Literally the talents required for this business are genetic blessings (or the ability to apply makeup super well) and the capability to walk in a straight line with good posture. No joke, the walking is so much harder than it looks and I’ve seen some girls stuff that up hardcore, myself included. I’ve been told at castings that I walk in a diagonal line and that I pose to the wrong side. Riiiiight. Most people snigger at the seemingly “idiotic” models who stack it on cat walks all around world but before you do, imagine what it would be like if the shoe was on the other foot, literally. Those shoes are effing high! The shoes you are expected to wear at times look like they belong in a museum, they are so beautiful and obscure. I experienced one of these horrific accidents firsthand....when I had my first fall.

I was at a Jason Grech parade. For those who don’t know this designer, he creates magnificent couture gowns costing thousands of dollars each. This particular parade I participated in had a long stair case in the middle of a circular runway, which the models would use to enter and exit from. All was going according to plan until I tried on my longest dress of the set and had to walk back up the stairs. I didn’t lift the dress high enough when I took a step up the stairs and I stood on the front of it, causing me to fall forward onto my face. Not only did it hurt sooo bad but it was in front of about 60 people. Nice. All I could do was pick myself up, dust myself off, turn around to the crowd with my thumbs up and force out an “I’m ok” while gritting my teeth so I didn’t cry from the pain. This was not quite as bad as other falls models have made.

If you have a look on youtube there are countless videos of models losing their footing on catwalks. My personal favourite was from America’s Next Top Model when there were giant pendulums swinging across the runway and one of the girls got hit by it and was tossed off the catwalk. I shouldn’t laugh because she got injured but it is freaking hilarious.

I’m just saying, next time you go and make a comment about how stupid models are because they fall over all the time, just take amount to think about the size of their shoes. So shut up, I wear heels bigger than your dick.

Apple & rhubarb crumble

I'm pretty sure the entire world has had this about a million times but for me, the second time I've ever had it was last night when I made it. I couldn't find a decent recipe so I asked the lady I babysit for.....because I'm cool. Anyways, it was a ripper so I thought I'd share the recipe with you guys.
Peel and chop 3 granny smith apples along with a bunch of rhubarb and put them in a pot to stew with some brown sugar and cinnamon. To make the crumble, put 1 cup of flour and 1/2 cup of brown sugar on a baking tray and mix in lots of blobs of butter until it becomes crumbly. Then add 1/2 a cup of oats and 1/2 a cup of coconut, mix together with your fingers. Pop the stewed fruit in a baking dish and cover with the crumble. Slide into a 200 degree oven for 20 mins or until golden. Serve with cream or ice cream.
Nom nom nom!

How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways....

I have a beef to settle with men. It involves the way they express their appreciation of the female form. Women definitely do not act in this way...unless they’re a “woman of the night”, then it’s their job and it’s not a big deal. Men will yell out crude comments, whistle, toot their horn (which I do occasionally because I think I’m hilarious), stop women in the street and even leave their phone numbers on people’s car windshields. What do they expect the women to do?

Recently, I was going to get ice cream with my best friend in St Kilda as we do every Wednesday night because we’re cute. For those who don’t know the area of Fitzroy St too well, just know that at night all the weirdos come out of the woodwork, this includes drug addicts and deros. Back to my story! As we were crossing the road, we walk past two hobos who yell after us “looking good ladies”. I mean, really? What do they expect us to do, walk up to them and slip them our numbers? Similar thing used to occur when I’d walk my dog at the beach. All the- ummm let’s be politically correct here- men of Italian and Greek descent would line their cars up along the jogging track and just hang out there. When asked for my number several times after false enthusiasm expressed over my dog, I decided to choose a different walking route. You’d think it would be outrageous enough in Australia, think again. Europe kicks arse.

My first experience of Europe was when I had just passed my sweet sixteenth birthday. However, my teenage innocence was about to be destroyed. Every Tom, Dick and Harry had his say on how he felt about my sister and I. To say I was shocked, appalled and giggly was an understatement. The worst of it came when I was in a market in Florence and someone asked my dad if he could buy me. Dad said only if he had 50 euros. Thanks dad, love you too. It’s not just non-English speaking countries either.

England rates pretty high on my list of sexual predators. On my last trip, I had multiple creepy 40 year old guys stop me in the street, mention that I had “caught their eye” and ask me if I wanted to go for a drink. REALLY?!!?! I mean come on! NO! You just want to ask “has this ever actually worked for you?” but that would be harsh. I prefer to decline with a sincere “I’m actually going back to Australia tonight to feed my kangaroo, sorry”.

In reality, a man yelling out to you saying how attractive you are and that he wants to take you home may in fact want this in his dreams but when confronted with a female who would like to satisfy this man’s desire, he may turn out to be bluffing. Take the episode of Sex & the City where Miranda experiences a man drought and is being pestered by a crude workman outside her video store. When she expresses her burning desire for him, he admits he has a wife and didn’t mean it. She finds that these men are “all talk and no action”, as I believe most men committing these crimes would be.

In the words of a wise woman, Cat Stratford, “I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby.”

Cinderella didn’t lose her glass slipper waiting in line

Yesterday I had the delightful experience of lining up for a university ball. This one in particular was the Melbourne University commerce ball, which I attended last year but skipped the line up. This line up goes for around 26 hours and 33 minutes ish. Basically, tickets go on sale on the Monday morning and there are 75 tables to be snapped up so all these people begin lining up in the wee hours of Sunday morning to camp out in the hopes of going to the ball. My group of friends were luckily enough to get the 11th spot in the line, with dreams that next year they’ll be number one.


I arrived at a casual 4:00 in the afternoon to meet two of my friends who were on their shift. It literally looked like a campsite....minus the grass. People had tents, speakers and fold out chairs to go with the large amount of beer they were consuming. My friends, however, had set up camp with none of these things...just chips. Whoever said girls don’t eat clearly hasn’t met my friends and I. So while we sat around, I brought out the bible AKA Cosmopolitan magazine. I literally think you can learn how to have sex just by reading that magazine. Some of my favourite quotes include “Is it weird if I squirt liquid from my vagina when I orgasm?” and “be a pants-down winner between the sheets”. Thanks to Cosmo, many things have been opened: many magazines, the world of sex and lots of women’s legs. Love it.

As loud as us girls are, it was inevitable that a nearby boy would become engrossed in our conversations on how to make sure your man arrives second and why guys are attracted to skanks. Before I could even finish my sentence asking this boy if he wanted to borrow our magazine, he had already let out a squeal of a yes and snatched it from my outstretched hand. Eager beaver.

We then started telling drunk stories...generally about my lovely friend Anna. This girl is a veteran of the line and decided she would drink when she did it last year. This resulted in her stacking it multiple times and just being generally a class act. My favourite part of the reminiscing of this story was when the random boys sitting near us starting adding to the story, saying they remember these incidents happening last year and more. I think that’s when you realise it’s gone too far, when a random stranger you’ve never seen remembers you from a whole year ago. I’ve never been so proud.

I’ve also discovered my humour consists of sarcasm and throwing in the odd “your dad didn’t think so last night when I was in his bed” joke after someone insults me. Is that what I’ve become? I myself find these jokes hilarious, but only secretly snigger on the inside while tumble weeds roll past as the sound of crickets rings in my ears.

As immature as my sense of humour is, I can’t ignore the fact that today I’m still in my pj’s sniffling and chowing down on vitamin c. How is it that I get an intense cold from staying outside in the cold for four hours? My other friends weren’t wearing nearly as much clothing as me AND they were staying overnight yet I seem to be the one on my death bed. I need a new immune system. Pronto. I feel like I’m a hundred years old and I’m just waiting for my great great grandkids to bring me a get well card. Looks like I’ve reached senescence at the age of 19, what a joy!

Oh! A bald eagle!

As it is, my latest screen play hasn’t been snapped up by a Hollywood producer and I haven’t been “discovered” and whisked off to Milan by a famous international designer. My life is less than glamorous as I spend my weekends working at my mum’s gift and home wares shop. I use the term “working” loosely as I tend to repel customers as I’d much rather spend my money making time stalking people on facebook. As glorious as facebook can be for entertaining me for seven hours while I avoid my uni homework, it can only go so far as to satisfy my need to for human interaction. Thus the story of my introduction to the world of chat roulette was born.


From what I’d heard of this internet phenomenon, there were a lot of penises and some people had been fortunate enough to encounter such celebs as Ashton Kutcher and Paris Hilton. My first experience didn’t include any rising stars just lots of risen wieners. I found myself pressing the next button like each click was donating thousands of dollars to world peace. Too many men were propositioning me for things I hadn’t even thought existed outside such films as In Diana Jones and the Temple of Poon and Arma-get-it-on.

While wading in a sea of varied groins, I discovered a lot of ads featuring girls with plastic boobs and occasionally a face or two. You do come across some interesting people, mostly from America and mostly male. Some encounters interest me more than others but what worries me the most is the large number of 13 year olds I have seen. The poor little dears are being bombarded with men playing with their little friends, I could think of nothing more horrible for my potential kids to be seeing on the internet. I did find a Justin Bieber look alike wielding a knife, that was concerning to say the least. Way to taint my Bieber baby’s squeaky clean image. I’ve seen drunk American teenagers with big boobs, gothic weirdos who haven’t seen a light other than that of the screen of their computer for years as well as a few really cool people. I would recommend it for a rainy day if you’re bored just to check it out for a laugh. I do not recommend adding your genitals to the collage of them that is chat roulette.